


Decay Exists As An Extant Lifeform

by Mina_Chama



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works, Original Work
Genre: Asexual Character, Body Horror, Gen, Horror, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Nonbinary Character, Original work - Freeform, Psychological Horror, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-01-25 18:37:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mina_Chama/pseuds/Mina_Chama
Summary: Somehow, getting a new classmate isn't that bad. Even when they seem less and less human for every day that passes, it's still just a new classmate.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Our teacher said were getting a new classmate. They’re supposed to show up today, but I haven’t seen anyone new yet. Being late on your first day seems like a good way to make a bad impression. We’ve gotten almost halfway through the first lesson of the day, biology, when our teacher seems to startle in front of the whiteboard.

He gives the word to someone in the back, looking vaguely confused the whole time.

I turn around to see who’s asking questions. No one in the back makes a habit of drawing attention to themselves, usually they do something decidedly not in the lesson plan, and make sure it’s not visible from the teacher’s desk.

I heard someone ask a question about something. Their voice had an odd quality to it. Like if someone was speaking through a piece of cloth, or if the sound was muffled through a pillow, but still loud enough to hear clearly.

Looking back, I didn’t recognize whoever spoke. Their face was half covered with poorly dyed black hair, cut into uneven chunks. Everyone was turned towards the figure in the back now, and they seemed to shrink back into themself.

If the teacher replied, I didn’t hear it. The figure sitting in the back of the classroom drew in all of my attention. I was trying to catalogue what I could see, but there really wasn’t much. They looked small, almost curled up in their seat, with baggy clothing hanging off of shoulders that visibly hunched more and more under all of the attention.

Vaguely I heard the teacher ask them to introduce themself, and they carefully uncurled from their spot pressed against the wall. Even after they stood to their full height they didn’t give the impression of being big.

They say something, but I can’t make out the name. It has sounds that aren’t supposed to be together. Sounds that humans aren’t built to produce. It’s nothing that I would be able to replicate, and it definitely isn’t whatever our teacher called them. The guttural stops and hissing high notes flow together from their mouth like it’s the most natural thing, and after saying this thing that I’m not even able to think, they sat down again like my mind hadn’t just been put through a grinder made out of splintered bone.

After a minute of no one saying anything, our teacher made an attempt to get the lesson back on track, but it was clear no one was really listening.

Everyone still turns back, keeping up the pretence of normalcy, as though it wasn’t brutally shattered just moments before.

Our teacher drones on, talking at length of the cycle of nutrition, and how ecosystems depend on the death of the beings in it to keep working. How decay is the natural state of all living things past a certain point, and how fungi both take up this role, and are their own form of creature, neither plant nor animal.

As he talks I can feel eyes burning into the back of my head. Slowly turning around I can see who was staring at me. I would like to say I locked eyes with them, but that’s too strong a word. I happened to look at where their eyes should be while they were looking at me.

I couldn’t see their eyes though. Even though only half their face was covered by their hair, the rest of it was cloaked in shadows without a clear source. Something glinted in the heady darkness of the hole where their eye should be, and I felt like they were seeing through my entire being.

Quickly looking away I hunched down in my seat, feeling violated and exposed from whatever had just happened. As everyone around me seemed to suppress the memory of the name that isn’t supposed to be heard by humans conversation started up again, with everyone repressing the knowledge of the _thing_ in the back of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Later on, I was punted from my regular seat by a group of girls. The lesson had almost started, and barely any seats were left. Looking around the only viable seat was in the corner, next to the new student.

Sitting down, I got a polite nod from them. We both turned towards the front of the class, comfortable with having our interaction end there.

As I was leaning over the desk, jotting down notes, I noticed a sweet smell. I could recognize it, but I couldn’t quite place where I has smelt it before. Breathing in again I notice it’s coming from my left. There’s only one person sitting there.

When I look over, they’ve leaned over, almost completely laying on their desk. Their hair is covering their face again, and I notice how I still haven’t seen enough of it to be able to identify them in any meaningful way.

As if feeling me looking at them, they shift their head slightly. The hair now falls around their eyes instead of in front, and my eyes lock with two never-ending pools locked in a face I am unable to see. I feel myself tilting forwards, unable to stop myself from being drawn towards them. Those eyes hold something humans aren’t meant to see.

A loud noise breaks me from my trance, and I come to my senses lying on the floor. As I look up, the being I can’t even begin to comprehend pulls their leg back, looking at my chair as if its about to start growing legs. They explain in a quite tone how I was too close. Their voice still has the muffled quality, and now that I’m closer, I hear that it sounds like many voices layered on top of each other.

I’m shaking now, but I can’t move away, because this is still the only open seat. I carefully right my chair and sit as far away from the being as I can while still being able to work on my desk.

As our teacher asks a question, they raise their hand. The teacher looks around the classroom, her eyes passing over them without seeming to notice them at all. As she seems about to give up and answer herself, she suddenly gets a glazed look in her eyes, and looks directly at _them._

She calls on them, and uses a decidedly human name. The thing that shouldn’t exist sitting next to me answers, and even though it hurts my brain to listen to their voice, I can hear that they’re right. As they finish up their explanation, they stop for a bit. They say that they don’t go by “That Name”, and that we shouldn’t be using it. Their real name is that thing they said earlier. Hearing it from so close hurts more than the last time. I can feel the name being branded into my brain, like it’s rearranging the fundamental parts of how I think.

They keep talking but all I can think of is the _N**AmE**_ and how much thinking hurts and and and and and andandandan_dandan**dand**-_something bumps into my arm, breaking me out of my thoughts. The thing next to me is pushing a packet of tissues towards me. I take it, slightly confused until I see the blood splatter on my desk. I carefully wipe it up, wondering where it came from. That question is easily answered when even more blood falls onto the wooden surface. It dripped from my face. I press a tissue to it and it comes away soaked. My nose is dripping heavily and I have to excuse myself to the bathroom to wash it off.

When I get there, I can feel that some of the blood is already dried, making my face feel uncomfortably sticky and stiff. How long was I sitting there bleeding? Looking in the mirror I see that the lower half of my face is almost completely drenched. The top of my shirt has a large stain on it too, I’m going to have to wash that.

Having washed up I contemplated going back to class. I want to get a clean shirt first, but where could I find one? I should just go back to clas-**_NO. _**I shouldn’t get back to class yet. I need to do something. Going back to class isn’t important right now. There’s nothing important in class. I don’t need to be there.


	3. Chapter 3

I missed the rest of that lesson.

I missed the rest of that school day actually.

I walked home in a daze, and almost mechanically washed the blood out of my shirt.

Now back at school again, I can’t really remember why I went home yesterday. It mustn’t have been important. I remember I had a headache. That was probably it.

Going into class again I saw that there were a lot of people missing. Asking around I heard that, because I left before lunch yesterday, I missed out on a huge case of food poisoning that took out almost a quarter of the students.

Sitting back down in my regular seat, in the front and next to the wall, and pull out my notebook. I has a few brown spots on it that I don’t remember having yesterday, but its probably just some dirt. Nothing to worry about.

The lesson started normally. Our teacher had a presentation on whichever specific part of our wonderful language we would be focusing on today, and my greatly diminished class took eager notes.

Suddenly I could feel something crawling up my back. It felt like some huge insect dragging something slimy, or like a clam had been crushed and its entrails were hanging out, and someone decided to use it as a back massager for me.

Flinching away from the disgusting feeling, I quickly turned around to see what was touching me. There was no one behind me. Or… there was someone, but not close enough to reach me. Almost the whole class were sitting in the middle of the room, or on the other side. My side contained only me, and someone who I don’t remember having in my class.

They look like a mess. Like they cut their hair while drunk off their ass, and dyed their hair while on something even stronger. I can’t really make out any details from across the classroom, but they’re not turned towards our teacher, and I can feel them staring at me.

They shift in their seat, and I realize I’ve been staring at them for a while now. Embarrassed, I turn back towards the front of the classroom and quickly try to get down the things that I missed while staring. I once again get a crawling feeling on my back, but this time it’s a lot lighter, barely even there.

I can smell something sweet, almost cloying, and I feel like I should recognize it. It tickles at something in my brain, and I reach towards it, hoping for an answer. I startle as someone pulls out the chair next to me. I don’t see who it is because I’m still looking at the whiteboard, but they smell nice. A weirdly sweet scent. Have I smelt that before? I don’t know. Doesn’t seem important now.

The person next to me turns towards me, and I can feel eyes on me. Its only polite to look back right?

My new classmate had moved up and decided to sit next to me. They asked if I was okay, worrying about my sudden departure the day before. Their voice sounded weird, like a lot of people being suffocated at the same time. Something in my brain between registering sound and compiling it into words was hurting.

I don’t remember seeing them yesterday, but maybe I just didn’t notice them. They had seemed pretty quiet, and I usually sit in the front of the class, so I wouldn’t see them if they sat behind me. I must’ve made a scene while leaving if they worried about me. I quickly assured them I was fine, and that I had only had a headache yesterday.

They looked at me weirdly, like I had said something odd.

Shaking it off, I asked them for their name. If they were here yesterday I must’ve missed the teachers introducing them. A weird look passed over their face, and then they gave me a nickname to use. They said that their real name was complicated, and I could just call them “Mykie”. I don’t really know which name would both be “complicated”, and something you can shorten to “Mykie”, but I’m not one to judge preferred names. Nodding, I gave them a short greeting while trying to keep some attention on our teacher.

I could see something being pushed onto my desk. Looking down, it seemed to be a few sheets of paper. They were filled with a cramped handwriting, almost illegible at some points, and clearly articulated in others. The top of the paper read, in leaning and squiggly letters, “social studies”.

These were notes from the lessons I missed yesterday. Had Mykie taken notes for me? That was both a very touching and very scary thought. Had I made such an impression yesterday that they felt the need to take notes for me? Or are these their notes which they’re just handing over to me?

I try to explain that I’m touched, but that I really can’t take them, but they just pushed the papers further onto my desk and stood up.

Without thinking I reached out to grab their sleeve. There was an almost ridiculous amount of loose fabric hanging off their small frame, and as my hand closed, I could feel how little there really was under that hoodie.

They didn’t stop though, and as they walked away I could feel the fabric around where I was gripping rip. It wasn’t loud, I probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact that I was still holding a chunk of fabric while they were already back in their previous spot. Looking at the thing in my hand made me confused though. It wasn’t like any fabric that I could remember wearing. It was soft, and extremely fragile, but it also had a course texture to it, like the bristles of a brush, but one that was still made of the same soft sort of fur you find on kittens.

Deciding that it really wasn’t anything to concern myself with right now I stuffed it into my pocket and concentrated on my teacher again, never noticing the thin trail of blood starting to drip from my nose.


	4. Chapter 4

Lunch wasn’t usually that big of an affair. Today was different. No one wanted to eat here. It was really quite understandable seeing as the school poisoned a large group of students. I wasn’t prepared for it, as I missed the whole poisoning business because of my headache yesterday.

Entering the cafeteria, it seems deserted. There are maybe thirty people in total, when there’s space for up to two hundred. Even though it’s empty, almost all of the tables are busy. Some have people from my class who I don’t talk to, and I’d rather sit with a stranger than sit in the awkward silence of a conversation that died.

I see the new kid sitting alone at a table by the windows. They don’t have anyone sitting with them. From what they did earlier, I had the impression that they at least tolerated me, if not liked me. Having made my choice, I walked over to their table and asked if they’d be okay with me sitting there. They nodded, seeming to have their mouth full, and I pulled out the chair diagonally across from them. I don’t know why, but something in my hindbrain tells me to be careful. _Screaming_ at me that Th_is _is a TH_RE**AT. **_

They look up from their food, cheeks bulging with food and bangs falling over the majority of their face, and even though I can’t see them too well, I get the impression that they’re adorable.

I can feel my pulse slowing. When had it gotten so high?

I look back down at my food and start eating. The cloyingly sweet smell that accompanies Mykie filling my nostrils. I’m not that hungry right now. The food tastes weird. It’s almost like there’s dirt in it. It tastes like the forest floor.

I manage a few bites before the odd taste puts me off.

As I look up at Mykie, they seem to have shrunk in on themself. Like they’re hiding from someone. I ask them what’s wrong, but they seem reluctant to answer, just looking sadly at my food. We sit there in silence until they seem finished with their food, when I stand up and gesture towards the dish racks. Humouring their silence with my own.

As we go to exit the cafeteria I stuff my hands in my pockets. I feel the chunk of so_me_**th_in_**_g_ that I put in there earlier. I go to pull it out but it dissolves in my hand and leaves bits of fur and thread in my pocket. I pull it out either way, and end up looking at a handful of thrash, my eyes starting to hurt.

Distracted by the ruined c_l**oT**_**H **I don’t look where I’m going, and walk into Mykie. I feel myself hitting _so**m**_**e**_T_H**I_NG _**and I stop instantly and I keep walking forwards and I’m being crushed and I’m being ripped apartandI’mdyign_andsomething’sw**rongandwhat’shappENING**_

I wake up on the floor. My head hurts. I’m leaning on the wall next to the exit to the cafeteria. People are walking by, they don’t seem to notice me. I look down at myself and see that I’m covered in wounds. They look weird. Like scratches and like my skin was stretched until it ripped and like crush wounds and like burns. I wasn’t in pain, even though my skin was more wound than it was actual tissue.

As I stand up I almost fall over again. My whole vision blacks out, and I lean heavily against the wall.

It slowly fades in again. Now people seem to see me. One of the teachers runs up to me, looking terrified, and I’m confused for a moment until I remember how I look. I can’t really walk, as every movement stretches and squishes my mangled skin, so he half carries me to the nurses office.

I have to be picked up by my parents, and yet I’m more worried about missing school for the second day in a row.

That’s when I remember the notes. Maybe I’ve only missed one day of lessons then.

As I take the notes out from where I had stuffed them earlier, and skim through what was mentioned in the lessons. The writing, though cramped, is legible. That is, until I get to the math notes. They’ve either written down something completely different from what they were doing during the lesson, or they’re using some form of maths I’ve never even seen before. I stare at it, and it doesn’t make sense. It’s _wrong_. That isn’t how numbers work. The longer I stare the more it feels like my brain is melting from trying to comprehend the absolute _wro**ngn**ess _of it.

As I blink away tears from my stinging eyes I see something red hit the paper. It came from my eye. Are my eyes bleeding? Why are they bleeding? I try to wipe it away and rub at my eyes with a tissue. When I look back down at my lap, nothings changed. It’s still the same notes on democracy as it was before I started crying. Why was I crying? I wasn’t crying. My eyes just hurt and I needed to rest them for a moment. Why did I feel the need to check if the democracy notes were still on top? I must’ve just felt like I dropped a paper. Yes. That’s it. I thought I dropped something. Nothing more.

As I get helped out to the car no one notices the shreds of paper curling on the floor, or the bloodstained tissue left in the trash, forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up is painful.

Not because of my wounds, I’m hopped up on enough painkillers to guarantee I won’t go to school today. What hurts is my brain.

Before I know it I’m staggering out of my room, heading to the bathroom.

I feel weird. Something should be different with me, but it isn’t. I’ve changed in some way I can’t articulate. Nothing changed around me, and now everything feels wrong.

I stare at my reflection and the gauze covering my face. I don’t remember how I got hurt. Did I hit my head? I don’t see anything showing I did, but all of me is covered in bandages, so I can’t see clearly.

There’s something there. It feels like the haze from the drugs is making it easier to feel it, whatever it is. That even though I couldn’t do math right now if I was given a calculator, something in my mind has been shaken loose. I can feel it in the back of my mouth. My tongue twitching with a need to form sounds it can’t make, and my soul is crying out for something I can’t name. A sensation that shouldn’t be, an open wound in me very being that can only be closed with something I don’t have.

What happened? I remember being at school yesterday, and I remember waking up in the cafeteria… Why did I black out in the first place? There’s a spot where my memory blanks, but I can’t for the life of me find where.

My dad barges in, and we both jump a little from the sudden other person in the room. Next thing I know, I’m leaning against his chest, having fainted from the shock.

Before yesterday I can’t call up ANY memory of fainting. Did something happen to me? Is that what was in the time I can’t remember? WHY can’t I remember? Is it important? Did I get brain damage? Am I going to lose more memories?

As I’m starting to panic I can hear dad asking if I’m okay. I give a noncommittal hum and try to right myself, realizing that my using him as a wall probably isn’t helping either of us. Even the small act of pushing myself completely upright leaves me light-headed. How did I even get to the bathroom in this state?

I’m using dad as a crutch as we make our way to the kitchen. As I’m picking at the bandages on my arm, he sets me down in a chair. What was I doing in the bathroom?

Deciding that it was a problem for later me, the me that’d had coffee and some toast, I pushed it to the back of my mind. I asked dad if he could make breakfast for me, but he really didn’t have time, especially after already helping me in the bathroom. Did I need help in the bathroom? I can’t even remember being in the bathroom today. He seems confused, he probably works too much.

I stand carefully to go make a sandwich, not wanting to fall over again, but now I hardly feel light-headed at all. It was probably just a temporary blood pressure drop, nothing serious.

As I sit down to eat it I realize that I’m not hungry. I try to get a few bites in anyways, but my stomach feels like it’s about to rebel. Deciding that I’d rather not throw up first thing in the morning, I set the sandwich down and pick up my coffee in both hands.

I’m not supposed to go to school today, because of the issues I’ve been having. What issues? Everything’s been going like normal.

I’m probably just stressed. It’s good that I get a day to myself.

Getting back to my room I pull out my notes from school. Why aren’t they in my handwriting? Was I so out of it that I couldn’t write properly? I should just rewrite it so I can read it better.

Settling down at my desk I pull out my notebooks and get to work.


	6. Chapter 6

My parents drive me to the hospital. My wounds need to be checked out by a doctor, and not just the school nurse.

I get to spend a while sitting around in the waiting room, but they’ve got magazines so it’s not too bad. The doctors come out to get me almost an hour later.

As we’re walking to their office, I can see them side eyeing me. Once there they ask me if the report they received was accurate. Confused, I explain that I wasn’t conscious for the report being written. I could probably give a rough idea of if it was right if they read it to me though.

I can see them getting worried now. Both my doctor and the nurse exit the room with my file, and I can hear their voices through the door. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it sounds stressed. Like they’re worried.

Are they worried about me? How bad is it? I feel fine though, I don’t know what’s wrong.

They come in again, looking frazzled, and tell me that we’re going to change my bandages and check my wounds.

As we’re unwinding the gauze from my arms, I notice that it seems fine. There is what looks like month old scars crisscrossing all along it, but nothing that would justify being wrapped up like I was.

The doctors look just as confused as I am. They remove the rest of it too, and nowhere are there any open wounds. I get asked a few questions about how I’ve felt today, and after explaining that everything’s been going like normal. I’ve been doing fine and I probably didn’t even need to stay home from school.

After a brief check to see if I’m feeling any pain, and seeing that, no, I’m not, I get sent out again. My skin feels numb in patches, like I’ve had ice pressed to it for too long. Scratching at it, the sensation is odd. My skin has an odd texture. Almost like bark. I call my parents to get picked up, and hunch in on myself in a corner of the waiting room.

They seem shocked to see me. Does my skin look that bad? I try to tug my sleeves down further. My T-shirt doesn’t cover much and I hug my arms around me. Maybe I should get longer shirts?

We go home, and in the car I keep rubbing my arms. They feel _weird._ How _did _I get hurt? I can’t remember. I must’ve had these wounds for a long time for them to be this healed, but I can’t remember having them at any point…

I try to pull up a memory of having them. What could’ve even _caused_ something like this? Was I wrapped up in bandages yesterday? Why did I get sent home from school? Why am I _H**eRE?**_**?**_? _

My brain **hurts. **I can’t _thi**nk. **_**SomeTHI_ng’S Wr_O**_nG. _Why? WHY? W**HY? WH_Y? WHY? <strike>WHY? WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY??</strike>_**

_ why? _

I’m in the bathroom. How did I get here? I’m bleeding. There’s blood everywhere. I feel fuzzy. It doesn’t hurt? My arms are covered in blood. I’ve scratched up bloody welts along my arms. I can’t remember doing this. Why do I keep blacking out?

I look up into the mirror. It’s covered in scars, like the patterning of a zebra. There’s blood on my face too. I can’t see where it’s coming from. I need to wash up.

In the shower I can feel the sting of warm water in my wounds. Everything suddenly snaps into focus. Like I’ve had a filter over my brain until now and I didn’t realize until it was removed.

I can feel how much my head hurts. I want to go back to the filter. I wash myself and make sure the scratches aren’t bleeding too much. Getting out is hard. Now that I feel things again my entire body _aches_. The warm water is soothing. Like being wrapped in something. It’s comforting. I don’t want to leave. I lean against the wall, taking weight off of my feet. It’s nice. I blink up at the showerhead. When did the water turn cold? How long have I been in here?

Finally stepping out of the shower, I can see how everything in the room is fogged over. I feel a lot calmer than I can remember. Maybe I needed this.

I dry of and go to get dressed. I need to wear something with long sleeves to cover up my messed-up arms. The scars are so visible it’d disconcerting. Maybe I should cover up my face a bit too?

I pull on a hoodie and pull up the hood. Maybe if I pull up the hood it won’t be as visible? I could at least try.

Going through my wardrobe I try to find any other long-sleeved shirt. I can’t find any. Most of what I wear are t-shirts or three-quarter sleeves. I’ll need to get some new ones.

For the time being I’ll probably just stay in this hoodie.

It’s soft.

I’m soft.


	7. Chapter 7

Going back to school is hard.

Everyone seems to know what happened.

They’re _looking at me._

** _WHY_ **

I do**n’t want them to _see me._**

** _I’M WRONG_ **

** _I SH<strike>OUL</strike><strike>DN’T BE </strike>_ ** ** <strike>H</strike> ** _ <strike>ER</strike> _ <strike>E</strike>

Tugging my sleeves over my hands and sinking deeper into my hoodie I hurry to the back of the classroom. If I sit in a corner then they won’t see me as easily. Having sat down, I turn my back towards the wall so I can keep track of the rest of the room.

As I’m sitting there, the new kid takes the seat next to me. What was their name? I try to remember, but a sharp pain shoots through my head and I barely restrain a flinch.

They look concerned. Did I flinch anyways? How visible was it? Has anyone else seen? I can’t seem weak right now.

My eyes are darting around the room to see if anyone’s looking at me, when M---My--- _something_\- puts their hand on my arm. I lock eyes with them, and something that’s been open and hurting in my soul closes over. The anxious energy that has been pushing me drains out, and I’m left feeling like a deflated balloon.

I slump over my desk, only now realizing how exhausted I am. The _something _next to me speaks softly. Their voice has a calming cadence, even as it sounds like a choir being suffocated. They’re asking if I’m okay. They say they worried about me after I left school so suddenly.

I’m touched that they care so much. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, not having many friends. Not by any choice of my own, but by circumstances.

I notice that they’re still talking. Saying how they feel bad about what happened me. I have to step in and explain that they shouldn’t feel bad. There really was nothing anyone could do. I don’t remember what it was, but I’m probably to blame. That’s how it’s always been.

I put my hand on theirs, which is still resting on my arm. They go quiet immediately. I can still hear the echoes of their voice, though there’s no meaning to it now. Just sounds surrounding us that refuse to die. Attempting to look into their eyes, the weird shadows on their face shift. Like there’s something moving in there.

It feels like I should know something. Like there’s some information I’m missing. I try to put a name to it, but it feels like it’s hovering just out of reach. What was it I needed to know? Was it something to do with _them_?

I can’t remember their name. It feels like I _should_ know it. It’s in the back of my mind. Sitting just on the back of my tongue. Maybe I should ask them? No. If I feel this much like I should know it, they must’ve told me. I can’t just ask again.

I thank them for their compassion. No one else seemed to care that I was so stressed. It’s very nice of them.

I smile, and see something shift in the shadows covering their face. A sense of warmness surrounds me. We both turn back towards the front of the class, neither of us noticing, or neither of us caring, about the hand still sitting on my arm, and my hand still on theirs.


	8. Chapter 8

Class is different after that.

The sweet scent still surrounds them, reminding me of the forest in fall. Of sitting under an apple tree surrounded by fallen fruit.

There’s something making me feel calmer, like a warm blanket laid over my soul. The place where they rested their hand burns. My palm that I touched them with keeps cracking.

I sit next to them at every opportunity, and they seem to be in a great mood. Everyone around us seeming lighter than I’ve ever seen them.

My hand doesn’t hurt. The cracks seep a dark fluid. Papers that get stained never last too long, developing holes and the ink fading. I bandage it as often as I can, but it doesn’t seem to help.

**They **don’t seem to notice, sitting quietly beside me. Every time my shoulder brush theirs it **burns**. Even as it burns though, I can feel a numbness radiating down my arm. As if I’ve slept on it wrong. My blood feels carbonated.

I clench my hand around my pen, and I can already feel the wood in it softening. Something is wrong. The quiet classroom echoes the dull sound of soft wood reaching its breaking point.

Where is everybody?

They were just here.

As I look around the classroom all I see is empty desks. The scent that usually surrounds **them** is stronger now. Paint is peeling off the walls and the windows are all shattered. I look over to them, and it is only as I see them completely here that I realize how absent they usually are.

Their edges are solid.

Why weren’t they earlier?

Where are we?

My shoulder hurts more now. I can’t move my arm. My head hurts. Where **am** I. The tabletop

is crumbling beneath my hands. It’s all falling apart. My nails are digging into my palm, pushing rotten wood into the cracks.

**Their **hands grab mine, and carefully pry them open. Far too long and thing fingers dig into the cracks, pulling out gunk that was once wood. As I watch, their pointer finger penetrates the crack down to the second knuckle, taking with it a black mass unlike the _once wood _that they’d just removed. This was thicker, and seemed to undulate under the weak light in the room.

As I watch it slowly spreads out, making a thin writhing layer up **their** arm.

Didn’t they just have a shirt on?

I know that they were wearing a hoodie…

My gaze drifts up their arm to their chest, but its covered by the same oversized hoodie as before. And as I glance back down, so is their arm.

What?

The chatter of a lesson ending slams into me and I flinch. Everything is back to normal. All the people are back, everything is the same.

There’s a sharp pain in my hand, and I clutch it to my chest. As I do, something lands on the desk.

It’s a small pile of wood splinters.

The edge of my desk has a piece missing.

There are no splinters in my hand though. There’s nothing in it. The cracks from earlier are completely gone, the skin where they were oddly smooth and soft.

The class starts moving around me, and I hurry to join them leaving the classroom.

No one can prove it’s my fault that the table is broken.


End file.
